E Pluribus Unum
by Mordac
Summary: My take on the American magical world. A glimpse at the United States magical government, in the advent of Voldemort's second rise. One-shot. Revamped!


**E Pluribus Unum**

The streets of New York City were as busy as always. The cars bustled through the city in a hurry to get out, as the commuters rushed home after a day of hard work. In any other place, the man walking through the bustling crowd would have been noticed and laughed at for his more than eccentric dress, but here eccentrics were a dime a dozen, and the hurried passers-by didn't pay him more than scant notice. After all, one man with a decades out of fashion dark suit and a heavy cloak was much less notorious than a drag queen or a seventh avenue hooker.

The man took a turn down one dark Manhattan alley, and briefly wondered what any more observant passerby would think a man of his apparent dignity was doing there. He smiled as he looked around to make sure no one was noticing him; little did they know. Then he did something that would astound this hypothetical observer even more. He quickly lifted the lid from a trashcan, inspected it for its contents, and dove right in.

Our observer would clearly think the man wasn't entirely sane. But of course, there was no observer, for the man was too careful for anything like that to happen. He was more than familiar with the surroundings, for this was no ordinary trash can. As he dove inside it, the familiar tug on his navel took him to a comfortable lobby. Unfortunately, with him came some trash an unsuspecting mundane had discarded on the poorly chosen entrance. For that trash can was no ordinary trash can; it was a disguised entrance to the headquarters of one of the most powerful organizations on wizarding America.

While he was still getting his bearings from the wrenching trip, the attending house elf jumped to his feet. "Oh, Senator Lejeune sir, Windy is helping yous clean the mess, sir, don't worry." The elf quickly did what would be the equivalent of a Scourgify charm if she were a witch, and he attempted to restore some of Lejeune's fallen dignity. "Mister O'Brien is waiting for yous, sir."

At these words, he felt the air hung with expectation. The lobby's dark green walls felt heavy with portent as he pored over the reasons he might have been asked to come here. Wondering if he'd be the last one to arrive, Lejeune quickly composed himself and dismissed the elf. "Thank you, er, Windy. I'll show myself in now." He quickly distanced himself from the elf's attentions, and opened one of the lobby's heavy doors with decisiveness; Andrew Jackson pored at him from the room's single portrait frame, smirking at the gears turning tonight.

Sparing one respectful look at the founder of the modern American magical government as he knew it, Lejeune strode forwards, closing the door behind him. While New York City was far from his native Louisiana, and far enough from Washington that there was no reason to make an habit of visiting, he knew these halls very well. While he wasn't officially a member, the Society of St. Tammany was [i]_the[/i]_ unofficial meeting place for members of his party. While mostly fighting local battles, Tammany Hall allowed its significant resources to be used for national causes, though it rarely intervened directly. That it was doing so this time, meant the occasion was certainly momentous.

Heaving finally reached the Sanctum, the Senator braced himself and turned the heavy doorknob. He begun to get an inkling of what the sort of discussion that awaited him as he noticed that aside from Tammanny Hall's leader, "Boss" O'Brien, and one witch he had never seen before, all the others present were his colleagues from the Joint Subcommittee on Magical External Relations and Cooperation. Well, his party colleagues, anyway.

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen. I apologize for the delay, but you know how overwhelming the muggle city can be sometimes." Aside from a few members from New York, who were certainly used to it, most of the group assented to this with a murmur. Lejeune smiled and sat down on one of the meeting room's comfortable leather chairs. "Boss" O'Brien nodded, and quickly retrieved his want from inside his jacket. He silently cast a spell at the door and grinned. "Any indiscreet hears will get a nasty surprise now," he ventured with his thick pseudo-Irish accent. He then turned to Lejeune.

"Rest assured you didn't miss anything important, just a few minutes of quiet banter. You know us well." At this, he smiled openly, letting Lejeune see his gold tooth. He shuddered at the Boss' carnivorous smile. Though he knew such people were necessary, the man still unsettled him. O'Brien serious demeanor returned quickly though. "I'm sure you all have received the summoning for your committee's extraordinary session. Thanks to our own representative O'Scannlain here," at this, he tipped his head towards the man himself, one of the New Yorkers who didn't think much of the city's chaos, who nodded to acknowledge his participation in the looming intrigue; O'Brien went on, "we were informed of this important development here also. Normally, we wouldn't concern ourselves with this type of event, but one of our members in the Subdepartment of State brought us some disturbing news regarding the reason for this.. surprise meeting. I didn't want to rush in, in case the information was deliberate disinformation spread by the Administration to throw us off guard. However, I was recently able to confirm that unfortunately, our honored partner was telling the truth." He pointed to the witch at his side, who had stayed quiet until then, seemingly in awe of the company she found herself in. "This is Derval Finnegan. She just recently arrived in the country, from Ireland of course." He then shifted his gaze towards her again. "Mrs. Finnegan, would you mind telling the honorable members what you've told me?"

Lejeune couldn't help but feel a slight shiver at O'Brien's tone. He could muster an incredible empathy when he wanted. The woman—Mrs. Finnegan he told himself—seemed about as ambivalent about him as he Lejeune was, and looked around warily before bracing herself.

Even though he'd met a fair number of Irish immigrants, Lejeune's ear was still tuned to the softer Patois tones of his home, and it was only with strain that he could make out her words; most of those present didn't have that problem, and listened with rapt attention.

"I don't know how much you gentlemen follow the events in Europe, but you may remember the Dark Lord that led a rebellion in Britain almost two decades ago." At this he nodded; he obviously wasn't the only one who remembered, for Representative Andreas, from California, a young upstart witch who was being touted as one of the party's best hopes for the future, spoke up. Her lively green eyes came upon Finnegan. "You mean the wizard styling himself as 'Lord Voldemort'?" Some of his colleagues fought to suppress laughter at the admittedly corny name. Lejeune himself wondered why someone would call themselves 'flight of death', but then realize this person was British, and probably didn't even know the name's meaning.

Mrs. Finnegan didn't laugh like his colleagues; she looked visibly frightened and flinched. "Don't say that name!" she pleaded. Intellectually, he could understand her point of view, but she should have expected that because none of them had suffered anything from Britain's civil war, and any news of this.. Voldemort's exploits came to them only as echoes of a faraway conflict. Lejeune knew better. He had been only a Representative at the time, but he had also sat on the Joint Subcommittee on Magical External Relations and Cooperation then, and he knew many things most of those present didn't know. Oh yes, he said the name, but he was never so glib about it as most of his uninformed colleagues. He briefly wondered if they would remain so glib and uninformed very long.

While he had been lost in his thoughts, Finnegan had gone back to her story. "Well, you must also know that, even though everyone thought he was dead, he managed to come back two years ago, even though no one knows how that was possible, and the British ministry denied it for a year, until he showed himself." Lejeune doubted that no one knew that. A researcher in Ancient Magic from Houston, whom he had met in an event throw by the Governor, had told him he had an idea how, but he kept his cards close to the vest. As much as Lejeune loathed cooperating with the administration, he had informed the damned Yankee who ran the Subdepartment of State. He knew where America's interests laid. That researcher, Ted McClaskey, had since gotten himself a cushy job on the Subdepartment of Defense. He'd never seen him again, but it was even more improbable now that he'd tell him anything than it had been then. However, if some run-of-the-mill Professor from Houston who'd never even been to Britain could figure it out, he doubted nobody in Britain could. It just wouldn't be very likely they'd tell someone like Finnegal.

Oblivious to Senator Lejeune's less than flattering thoughts about her, the Irish witch continued. "The British Ministry of Magic tried to fight him, but of course, the British can't ever do anything right; they couldn't do much about it. But it was not until Dumbledore, who had worked privately to fight You Know Who, was murdered, that it all went to hell." Now that, everyone knew about. Of course, the man was known internationally as the head of the ICW, and he'd even once testified before his committee. Lejeune didn't quite know what to think of the him; he was obviously very skilled, but seemed nonetheless to have a loose screw. Or a dozen. He could handle the grilling the anti-ICW faction in Congress sent his way though, so he was obviously not as mad as he appeared. Well, now he wasn't anything. That thought jolted him back to attention.

"Then early this year, the Ministry of Magic building was attacked. Even though Minister Scrimegour was killed, everyone thought things had been kept under control when Minister Thicknesse assumed the post. We were wrong. It's obvious now that he must be one of You-Know-Who's men, what with the policy changes he made. He started imprisoning muggleborns, claiming they had stolen their magic; imposed what the muggles call 'martial law' and forced every wizard child in Britain to attend Hogwarts. At first, people obeyed, since there was no reason to suspect anything was wrong. When people began to suspect something might be up, it was too late. That's what happened to me—I sent my son there again, even though I don't have to, because while Irish children attend Hogwarts, (our foolish ministers never bothered to make our own school, you see), of course they couldn't force them to attend. But I didn't know any better, and now they're not even letting them come home for the holidays—only for Summer. We took off as soon as we could—he hasn't taken over Ireland yet, but who knows how long that'll last. My husband's a muggle, so we had to run while it was safe. Seamus—my son—will join us as soon as Summer Holidays start. Some pureblood relatives of mine already have seen to that."

Well, that was certainly quite a mouthful. Obviously the woman thought she might as well get it over with. He sympathized with her concerns, but he wasn't too worried about her future. After what she'd done tonight, Tammany Hall would make sure she would thrive in the New World. O'Brien seemed to be thinking the same, for he finally broke the silence. "Thank you Mrs. Finnegan. You've done us a great service. I'm sure you understand that we need to discuss this in private, but do not worry, we do not forget those who aid us. Something will be arranged for you." He nodded at her, as if to say she was dismissed. She nodded back and left, clearly still shaken from the experience. Before she left though, Senator Black, who was seating closest to the door, rose up and gallantly held it open, slipping her a piece of parchment in the process. Senator Black's brother was governor of Kennessee. Oh yes, something would be arranged.

As soon as the door closed behind Mrs. Finnegan, a disorganized chatter broke out among the group. He himself was a man of few words—something, he was sure, he had not inherited from his French ancestors. Senator Bloxham raised his hand and coughed, and that was enough to silence everyone, though. That was, of course, not surprising, since he was their ranking member in the Joint Committee; being led by him was natural to them. Now the meeting's reins were with him, as O'Brien sat back. He'd let them discuss policy, and help with practical details. O'Brien was not a man of words, but of action, and he knew where his strengths lay.

Senator Bloxham indeed took charge. "While I cannot help but sympathize with Mrs…, er, Finnegan's concerns, I am quite sure we need to focus on greater matters. I think all of us can anticipate what the administration's next acts will be. Lejeune nodded.

"We all know Cabot Lodge hates the British. He has been looking for a pretext to provoke them since he was elected Secretary. The Republican agitation for tariffs against them has been nothing short of repulsive. I wasn't there, but I'm told Jeremiah Morris' testimony in the Senate Committee on the Economy was a touching affair." Jeremiah Morris' was the president of Morris & Blackmum, America's largest producer and distributor of magical wares. Senator Blackburn, who was on that Committee, confirmed Lejeune's sarcasm.

"Yes, if you'd listen to him, you'd think all his poor cauldron makers would starve if the British are able to sell us their wares. Of course, he didn't say anything about that hundred thousand dollars lawsuit their company is fighting from how often their pieces of junk blow up. Of course, no one was there to hear that." Blackburn made a disgusting face. Secretary Cabot Lodge's Republicans controlled the Senate, and as such were able to get away with little things like that.

Representative Knott, an old witch with a vicious smile, leaned over and assured them all that Morris' would be dragged before the House and made to repeat that show in front of everyone. The house was their turf, and everyone present grinned at the prospect of knocking the man down a peg or three.

Senator Bloxham didn't allow the meeting to stray. "It will not just be cauldrons they'll be going after. Britain is a very importance source of potions ingredients, and amazing brooms, as we all know. All of this and much more can be jeopardized. I have it in good authority the administration will want to ban all imports from the United Kingdom. "

A few incredulous gasps were heard at this. "Surely he knows that the Brits won't sit still at that?" It was Lejeune himself who ventured the question, amazed the the Administration's audacity. Bloxham nodded.

"You're right, they won't sit still, which is exactly what they want. You see, this isn't their ultimate goal, it's nothing but means to an end. What they really want it war with the United Kingdom, but they know they could never get congress to declare war just to help 'liberate' Britain or some other such nonsense. But if they get the Brits themselves to declare war on us…." Bloxham trailed off. It was all coming together. "No wonder they tried to keep us in the dark about this. If they had caught us unprepared, I'm sure someone would have panicked and they would have got their way." People did their best to look offended at the accusation that they'd break the party line, but no one did a very convincing job of it. They knew it had happened, and would undoubtedly happen again. Bloxham wouldn't allow it this time though. His fist connected loudly with a table.

"Unfortunately, we don't control the administration like we did the first time this Voldemort was active. No one regrets this more than I do. Cabot Lodge doesn't care one bit about British muggleborns, or anyone British, for that matter, though of course he will pretend to." Bloxham was trying his hardest to impress upon them the gravity of the situation. "If he gets his way, the consequences for us can be dramatic. He knows he will lose next year's election. So he's trying to whip a war up so he can rely on war sentiment to push him back to victory. This cannot be allowed to happen." Indeed it could not.

The meeting went on for two further hours, and left Lejeune exhausted, but confident. They had finally managed to set down a strategy they felt could counter the Republican machinations. The committee meeting was still two days away. By then, Representative Knott would have proposed bill in the House Defense Committee, which he chaired, to increase defense spending, only with enough strings attached that none of that money could actually be used for any offensive purposes, assuring they would be able to keep the high ground on the issue. By the time the International Relations committee had gotten around to meet, that measure should have passed the House. Knott had already left to inform Speaker Jackson, but Lejeune lingered. His old friend Bloxham approached him. "Terrible piece of work, isn't it, Alex?" Lejeune nodded.

"Quite. I feel the Brits' pain, but I know any interference would do nothing good." Bloxham nodded, but he had something up his sleeve. A twinkle in his eyes reminded Lejeune of the late Dumbledore.

"The British have some interests here in America, especially in New York itself. O'Brien assures me that they will find many of these," he paused, and grinned, "quite out of service." Lejeune grinned back. There were less bloody ways of offering assistance. And he'd heard, there was one child the British wizards called "The Chosen One". His name was Carpenter or something. Oh yes, they would have their cake and eat it too. His conscience thus appeased, his mind wandered back into more domestic matters.

"You should come visit us this recess Isaac. We haven't gone hunting together in a while." Isaac Bloxham beamed, and they both apparated to Washington. Back in Britain, he knew, someone else was hunting a madman.


End file.
